


Beautiful Monsters

by Dark_Violet



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Angst, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Smut, Feels, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Introspection, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Slow Burn, not so accurate historical context
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:47:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25367836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dark_Violet/pseuds/Dark_Violet
Summary: In the first years of their immortal life Yusuf and Nicolò have to face their fears and learn to accept what they have become.Loneliness can bring two men closer, but it may not be enough to keep them together.This story takes place roughly between the first and the second Crusade. Historical references may not be particularly accurate.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 30
Kudos: 280





	1. 1

_Monster_

_Freak_

_Don't touch me_

_Go away_

Yusuf had friends, once, comrades, a family, a home to return to, a land to fight for. But a man cannot be immortal and hide it forever, not when he is a soldier and not when the world around him ages and dies, inexorably, but he doesn't.

A man shouldn't be immortal in the first place.

People had started to talk behind his back soon enough, to whisper in the shadows, to give him strange looks, and the news had reached home even before Yusuf did. Fear was what had greeted him when he'd come back from the battlefield. Fear had instilled itself in the hearts of the people he held dear, then, and in Yusuf's one as well, when he finally had to face what he had become, what he was. Or at least what he wasn't.  
  
Mortality defined human beings. He couldn't die, thus he wasn't human, not anymore.  
  
He was an aberration, something wrong, scary, and even the people who were supposed to be closer to him couldn't accept it.  
  
_Father, am I still your son?  
  
Yes_  
  
The answer had come a moment too late. Dark, old eyes, wide with fear and veiled by tears had done the rest, and Yusuf had left his home, despite having just come back.  
  
Loneliness was a heavy burden to bear, though, even for the strong shoulders of a brave soldier, especially if combined with the knowledge that it could last forever. Literally.  
  
Was it the Frank's* fault? Had he doomed him somehow? That man had the same... talent, or power, or curse; to his own dismay Yusuf had seen him fall and rise more than once, after taking a sword, Yusuf's sword, through the chest, but why would he share such a thing? A soldier kills the enemy he doesn't make him immortal. Even if it didn't make sense it was nice at least to have someone to blame, and Yusuf had done his best in that sense. He'd killed the infidel knight more than once. Of course the stubborn bastard had refused to stay dead. The astonishment in his undoubtedly outstanding eyes had given Yusuf at least some cold comfort, but not the answers he needed.  
  
So years had gone by, the war had ended, at least for a while, and Yusuf was now more alone than ever. He had travelled far and wide across the sea, with the only company of his nightmares.  
  
Monster. Freak. Go away.  
  
In his dreams he still saw the terror in the face of his comrades, the tears in the eyes of his father, and the sea in the irises of the son of another God. Such a beautiful demon, the one with whom it all had started.  
  
Yusuf had been wandering for almost thirty years, looking for answers, safe in his own isolation, when he finally couldn't take it anymore. Being unique was not the privilege that everyone believed, it was a condemnation and maybe he was a sinner and deserved that torment, but how long was a man supposed to pay? Eventually he decided to go in search of the only other creature like him and finding him, oddly enough, proved to be much easier than expected.  
  
Nicolò da Venezia, that was his name, was hiding in plain sight, now heedless of the wars that continued to break out in a world neither of them belonged to anymore.  
  
Just like Yusuf, Nicolò had been looking for answers. Had he dreamed of the only other being like himself too? Perhaps. Was he waiting for him? Probably.  
  
Yusuf found him one morning in May, sitting at a shabby wooden table outside a tiny inn, on the edge of an olive grove. A good choice. The place was so remote that the echoes of the outside world couldn't reach it, and in the deep south of Italy, where the blood was mixed after centuries of conquests, Yusuf's dark hair and tan skin were absolutely normal.  
  
Nicolò saw him coming, he looked at him with a good dose of suspicion and animosity, there was even a cloth bundle on the grass near his feet, a long sword in all likelihood, but when Yusuf sat in front of him he didn't attack him, he didn't protest, he didn't even talk. He only rewarded him with a penetrating gaze, then pushed a cutting board with olives and cheese in the middle of the table and said something to a girl who soon returned with a cup and a new jug of red wine.  
  
The two men ate together, in silence, surrounded by the chirping of cicadas and the rustle of the wind among the olive trees branches. They didn't say a word, sometimes they exchanged furtive glances, and when the food and wine were finished, Nicolò got up, addressed Yusuf with a barely perceptible nod and left.  
  
The next day the blue-eyed demon was gone. He wasn't at the inn and somehow Yusuf knew he wasn't coming back. He had left or fled. Yusuf didn't actively look for him for years.  
  
Almost four decades had gone by since he had been not-killed on the battlefield in the Holy Land, at the hands of an unbeatable enemy, but Nicolò had not forgotten. The dark haired monster often visited him in his dreams, to the point that his presence, as much as it was disturbing, had become also familiar, comforting, even.  
  
He was an enemy, an infidel, he was out there and Nicolò still hated him, but when he thought about him he felt a little less alone. The day they had lunch together, many years ago, that feeling of familiarity had troubled him to the point that the same night he had taken his very few things and had gone away.  
  
It had been a mistake in the first place, to let himself be found. If God didn't have answers, how could that blasphemous man?  
  
Despite that knowledge the feeling of being a coward at leaving so suddenly had never completely abandoned him, as well as the desire to look for the other man and find him again, to tell him what, Nicolò still didn't know. They didn't even speak the same language. Yet, despite everything, Nicolò tended to orbit around him, to go where he knew, inexplicably, that he would find him. He wasn't truly looking for the man, he certainly wasn't spying on him, but knowing that Yusuf was in the same area, perhaps even in the same city, felt like a balm on the wounds of his soul, like a bitter medicine that made him feel better.  
  
Could the other man sense his presence in any way? Nicolò didn't know what to hope for, but in the end, tired of his own doubts, he finally made up his mind.  
  
For a few years Sicily had been an independent kingdom and Roger the Norman** loved to surround himself with the best scholars, no matter their ethnicities. In his court and in his cities there was room for everyone, so Yusuf didn't have to hide his language, his religion and his origin.  
  
It was summer when Nicolò discovered that he had taken root, more or less, in a village east of Palermo, on a hill overlooking the sea. He lived in a small house, surrounded by a thick citrus grove, away from the bustle of the harbor, and flanked by an orchard. Nicolò instead loved the sea, it reminded him of Genoa, and even at the times of his seminary he had been a good fisherman, in fact he chose to settle near a black lava rock cliff, a little far from the harbor but still close to the sea. If he played his cards well he could stay there even ten or twelve years, before the locals noticed that something was wrong with him.  
  
He soon met the other man, perhaps his big blue eyes stood out more among the people of the island, but for Nicolò Yusuf's dark eyes, intense to the point of being almost frightening, were unmistakable. They peered at each other across the market stalls, or on the rare occasions when they crossed paths in the village. All they did was glare, or in the good days exchange a silent greeting, which more than anything else looked like a peace offer, but for several days neither took the initiative to actually try to talk to the other.

It was starting to be awkward.  
  
One day in early October a storm broke out. A rare occurrence in that remote corner of the world, at that time of the year. The fury of the sea crashed Nicolò's fishing boat against the rocks. It wasn't a great problem, he could fix the damage and in the meantime he could still fish with his harpoon. The people of the hills were desperate instead, the storm had destroyed their orchards, fields and vineyards, the winter was going to be very hard for many of them.  
  
When Nicolò realized this, he physically winced.  
  
What had become of the small house in the citrus grove? Did Yusuf own cattle as well? Did he have food? The paradox was that he wouldn't die of starvation, but hunger was a cruel enemy, perhaps even more for those who couldn't die of it. Nicolò knew it all too well, he had experienced it a few times over the decades, and had promised himself never to go there again.  
  
A couple of days after the storm, exasperated by his own restless thoughts which were, frankly, absurd, he caught two big fish, skewered them on a hook and started up the hill with wide strides, mumbling to himself.  
  
When he got to the top he saw that the damage was substantial, but probably not irreparable. He walked towards the house with slightly less conviction, the door was open, and he did nothing to hide his presence. He had gone there in peace, but Yusuf was still a soldier, and a strong one, it wasn't wise to take him by surprise, even if he now plowed the land to live.  
  
From the threshold Nicolò saw the other man intent on working on the door of a window that the wind had torn up; when Yusuf noticed who was there the surprise in his eyes was evident, but there was no hostility in them.  
  
Feeling oddly uncomfortable under that inquiring gaze, Nicolò felt the heat rise to his cheeks and decided that it was better to cut it short. He placed the fish on the first available surface quite rudely, _"mangia"_ he said, without even wondering if the other man could actually understand that he was ordering him to eat. Then he left, just as he'd come, leaving Yusuf dumbfounded and puzzled, but not necessarily in a bad way.  
  
That night Yusuf ate with taste because he was hungry. The storm had taken hits toll, and he had shared what little he had managed to save with a family that lived nearby on the hill. That night, sitting in front of the fireplace, his hands clenched in fists on his knees, he also cried. Those two fish had been the very first gesture of kindness he'd gotten after decades, and they had come from his enemy, if he still could consider Nicolò one. It had also been a pretty useless effort on the man's part, in a sense, given that Yusuf wouldn't die of starvation, but that only made the gesture even more meaningful.  
  
It was also the second time Nicolò offered him food, so now Yusuf felt the need to reciprocate. Maybe he was an outcast, but he still remembered the manners his parents had taught him. There was also something else, though. He'd clearly seen the other man blushing, embarrassed by his own kindness, and that had inexplicably warmed Yusuf's heart. On an unconscious level, he craved more of that warmth.  
  
He allowed a few more days to pass, in which he exchanged a few hours of work for a basket of oranges since close to nothing had been saved from his own trees, then he went to look for Nicolò. He knew where he lived and found him soon enough.  
  
That day the small courtyard in front of Nicolo's house looked like a miniature shipyard, he was obviously fixing the damages caused to his boat. The man was not surprised at all to see him, he accepted the gift and thanked him with a few mispronounced Arabic words, while keeping stirring some pitch.  
  
"What?" He asked when he noticed the puzzled look on the dark haired man's face.  
  
"Nothing," Yusuf tried, but it was too late. He honestly found that Nicolò was doing a poor job with that pitch, but he hadn't been fast enough to hide it.  
  
"You think you can do better," said Nicolò as a matter of fact.  
  
"Well..." _not that it'd take much_ , was the first thought to cross Yusuf's mind. Had he still been able to pray he would have implored his God so that Nicolò wouldn't guess that too. He had really gone there out of gratitude and with the best of intentions, the last thing he wanted was to offend the other man, or criticize his work, he just really wanted to help.  
  
Nicolò scrutinized him with narrowed eyes but then kept on working, he added more wood to the fire, moved objects, stirred the pitch some more and so on, until Yusuf could no longer stay silent.  
  
Maybe Nicolò was really a demon, albeit a kind one, if such a thing even existed, because there was something in him that inexorably pushed Yusuf to want to be himself, a luxury that with normal people he could no longer afford. This meant being one hundred percent honest, on the one hand, and wanting to take care of him, on the other.  
  
That last thought was so disconcerting that Yusuf preferred to try his luck with the pitch than to dwell on it.  
  
“You know, it's not how it's done”  
  
"It is, where I come from"  
  
"Any technique can be improved"  
  
"You don't say"  
  
They bickered on that pitch, even animatedly, for a long time, and eventually they ended up working together all morning, until exhausted and hungry, they had to stop under the unforgiving sun. Nicolò willingly shared the food he had, including the oranges, feeling good for the first time since who knew when.  
  
A few days later, when he was finally finished with his boat, he went to fish and caught almost nothing because his gaze kept on running over the hill, to the small citrus grove.  
  
He met Yusuf again one afternoon at the market on the dock, where the man often went to trade something or the other. That time, instead of observing each other from a distance, they actually stopped to talk.  
  
"Does it float then?" Yusuf asked nodding at the small boat moored nearby.  
  
“Fortunately yes”  
  
"I told you that my pitch would hold up well"  
  
Since it was undeniably true, Nicolò eyerolled so hard that Yusuf had to laugh. The blond man, then, couldn't hold back a smile, and it was so wide and honest that Yusuf's heart skipped a beat.  
  
After that, the two men started to spend a lot of time together, they often worked in Yusuf's garden, which proved to need more efforts than a boat. Nicolò was very capable, and he was physically strong, he proved to be a valuable help but mainly the two found comfort in each other's presence, and in the simple circumstance of having someone to talk to, after a silence that had lasted too many years.  
  
They discovered, despite the initial doubts, that words came easily. Yusuf had been long enough in Italy to be able to understand and speak that strange hybrid, halfway between Caesar and Cicero's Latin, and what would become Italian over the centuries. Nicolò understood some Arab as well, like many others in king Roger's kingdom.  
  
Spending time together ended up becoming the most natural thing in the world. They rarely talked about the past, about what they were once, about whatever had made two sworn enemies out of them; more often than not their conversations shifted to the future. Nobody said it out loud, but to finally have someone to share whatever the future could have brought, was like a warm ray of sun after the chill of a potentially endless night.  
  
That was because among the many unspoken things there was also the implicit certainty that Nicolò and Yusuf would stay together, somehow, forever.  
  
If long conversations were comforting, so was the silence. Yusuf liked to watch the sunset from the top of his hill and often Nicolò kept him company. They ended up staying outside until the stars were high in the sky, side by side on the grass, with their heads resting on their crossed hands, contemplating the wonder of the firmament.  
  
"How long do you plan to stay here?" Nicolò asked once, out of the blue. It was late August, the fresh air was full of cricket singing and the stars shone like diamonds on black velvet. It was a lovely night and the moment the words left Nicolò's mouth Yusuf's world came crumbling down. Was he implying that he had grown tired of that place? Was he thinking of leaving? Not even two years had passed since he had arrived in the small village on the sea.  
  
Yusuf shrugged, trying to act as normal as possible "I don't know, I like this place."  
  
"I like it too”  
  
"But you want to leave"  
  
Nicolò sighed, then, and sat up cross-legged. It wasn't going to be a normal conversation, he clearly had something on his mind. With his head bowed down, twiddling the grass as if he was trying to clear his thoughts, he finally spoke. "It's not that I want to leave, at least not immediately. It’s just...”  
  
"Just?" Yusuf gently asked, sitting up cross-legged as well.  
  
"Do you ever think that maybe we're wasting our time?"  
  
A thought crossed Yusuf's mind, then, _the time I spend with you is never wasted_. "What do you mean?" He asked instead, trying to ignore his own dangerous, stupid brain.  
  
Nicolò just shrugged. "I don't know. Nevermind, I'm just a fool”  
  
"Come on, don't be shy," Yusuf joked to ease the tension.  
  
Nicolò rewarded him with a small smile, shook his head, but then looked up at the sky "maybe we should do something useful with the time we have been allowed."  
  
The other man remained silent for a long time. Nicolò was right, entirely, and Yusuf felt inexplicably proud of him, even knowing that it wasn't his place. The truth was that Yusuf too had often thought that if he had received such a gift he had to do something truly valuable with it.  
  
"Once we were soldiers," he offered.  
  
Nicolò nodded "we fought for a just cause" he said, then immediately lowered his gaze, regretting those words. Very rarely had they addressed that topic, very rarely had they talked about their differences, and the reasons that had led them to hate each other to the point they'd actually killed each other. No matter that neither had stayed dead for long. Now everything seemed far away, stupid, pointless, but one thing was certain, Nicolò didn't want to endanger the friendship he had with Yusuf. It was precious to him, the only authentic, worthy thing in his life.  
  
Even though he was sure, by now, that he could talk about everything with the man, some subjects were still difficult to address.  
  
"A just cause for sure, from an infidel's point of view." The other man replied in fact. Despite those words, though, his tone was light and there was a laugh in his voice, so Nicolò relaxed again. He pushed Yusuf's shoulder playfully "I meant that maybe we could still do good."  
  
"You mean together?" The dark haired man asked, this time totally serious.  
  
Now, that was a loaded question. The answer was far too easy, yet Nicolò couldn't bring himself to speak. He wanted to say yes, with all his heart, but the echo of distant words still haunted him.  
  
They had taught him the law of God from an early age. What was legit, allowed, right, and what was not. Who were the enemies and who were the friends. It was actually simple, if one just decided to stop thinking and ignore his own heart.  
  
They had also tried to cure him from the disease, from the curse that had transformed him into the blasphemous monstrosity he'd become. It had all been useless, of course. He had endured torture at the hands of those who said they wanted to help him, he had prayed God, begged the men and it had served no purpose. He was an abomination, unnatural, impure.  
  
Could something like him really have the presumption of bringing good to the world?  
  
But it wasn't just that. He'd never stopped to think about that little word 'together', and he'd just discovered that it wasn't such a simple concept as Yusuf probably believed.  
  
He sighed, he should've just stayed silent. “I don't know. Maybe." He finally answered, then he abruptly got up, blessing the darkness which prevented the other man from seeing the redness on his cheeks.  
  
Together was a beautiful word, but it was also a frightening one and right now Nicolò didn't feel strong enough to face that fear. "I have to go," he said.  
  
"Wait, stay," Yusuf tried, vaguely alarmed. What had just happened?  
  
Anyway Nicolò was already walking towards the path leading to the sea. "See you tomorrow," he said without turning back, and Yusuf could only let him go.  
  
Still sitting on the grass, confused, he couldn't quell the fear that wound in his belly. Fear of what, exactly, he didn't know.  
  
The following day, however, Nicolò didn't show up.


	2. 2

The day after his last conversation with Yusuf, Nicolò woke up tired as if he hadn't slept at all, which was almost entirely true. The moment his brain started working again his thoughts run back to the man, to the way he'd left him, and to why he'd done so.

He couldn't help feel like a complete fool, he had basically fled from the man who was now a trusted friend, all their differences be damned. Yusuf was a good person and a formidable fighter as well. They'd have been unstoppable, together, whatever they decided to do.

So why was he suddenly so afraid? Of one simple world, of his only friend, and above all of himself? Sitting in his bed Nicolò sighed, something had happened on that hill. Involuntarily they'd uncovered the proverbial Pandora's box and now he just couldn't deal with the consequences.

Together, yes, but how?

Nicolò had faced countless enemies in battle without blinking an eye, his own immortality had brought him pain, loneliness, doubts, and he'd endured it all, yet now he couldn't simply direct his steps towards the small house in the citrus grove, as he had gladly done so many times in the recent past.

In the following days, to add insult to injury he also started to miss Yusuf, which was, after all, exactly the problem.

It wasn’t natural. It wasn't normal. He wasn't normal, in more ways than one. And he was weak because the more time passed, the more he realized that as much as he couldn't face the other man right now, he couldn't face the future without him either. Short or long as it may have been. Then again, what would have become of their friendship if Yusuf had guessed his thoughts? He was smart, intelligent, and seemed to have the ability to read Nicolò's soul as no one before. But there were things that even Nicolò himself wasn't willing to say out loud.

He had peeked at a book* once, at the monastery, when he was a boy who was still learning latin. That book talked about immoral things, dirty things that sinful men did among themselves and that God-fearing people should never even think about. He'd been severely punished for reading that book, but the feeling of warmth in his belly had always remained with him. It was the same one he occasionally felt when Yusuf was near him, or looked at him in a certain way.  
It was a sin, though, in the eyes of the God of the Christians as well as in those of the God of the Muslims. A man and a woman had to form a family, anything else was the devil's temptation. A wise man, a pious man, was supposed to meet temptation many times in his life, and resist. That was, after all, one of the scourges that afflicted the lives of the saints.

Nicolò couldn't consider himself a saint by any stretch of the imagination, but he wanted to be good. Was he going to fail? Was he really so irredeemable?

And what about Yusuf? Was he the demon sent to tempt him, or was it the other way around? Would Nicolò end up corrupting a good man with his impure thoughts?

Oh, Yusuf was beautiful for sure, just like temptation was supposed to be, but that thought only served to make Nicolò even more ashamed of himself. Yusuf had always been so kind to him, and to anybody around him as well. He was generous and his smile was so warm. It was impossible to think that there was anything evil in him.

It hurt a bit that just as Nicolò wasn't visiting Yusuf, the dark haired man wasn't seeking him either. Surely he just meant to leave him some space, but on the one hand this gave Nicolò time to think and hope that his infatuation was only a passing malaise, on the other it was starting to be unnerving. He didn't know when, exactly, he had become attached to the other man to the point of needing him, but it had happened, so he soon had to admit that time and space weren't helping as he'd hoped; if anything they were making everything worse.

One morning, when Nicolò was sitting at his table ignoring his breakfast and dwelling among a thousand thoughts, a knock on his door startled him out of his skin. The people of the village were polite but wary, they knew by instinct that he wasn't like them so nobody ever came to visit, except for one person.

He stood up immediately, but for the first seconds he just stood like a statue in the middle of the room, staring at the door. Some more time passed by and soon enough there was a second knock. At that point Nicolò decided he should simply act as if nothing had happened.

When he finally found himself face to face with the object of his most recent obsession, despite all his good intentions, it took no more than an instant for his plan to fail miserably. Yusuf had a vaguely disheveled air, he looked tired, and he was wearing his long, curly hair loose on his shoulders, there was also a sad, defeated look in his beautiful eyes. For Nicolò it felt just like the punch to the gut he knew he deserved, and he found himself unable to hold the other man's gaze.

"I'm sorry," Yusuf said, taking him completely by surprise. As far as Nicolò remembered, a scimitar through the chest had hurt much less.

“What are you talking about?" He asked even if he'd already understood.

“Nicolò, whatever I may have said or done, it was not intentional. Forgive me, please.”

Nicolò cursed himself a thousand times. Obviously Yusuf was blaming himself, because he was too generous to simply admit that Nicolò was a fool. He hastened to shake his head, if he could do one good thing in his miserable life, it was to reassure the other man that he wasn't the one at fault.

"You didn't do anything wrong, it's just..." and there he had to stop. What could he say? He'd thought he could lie, but lying to Yusuf, of all people, was a feat beyond his ability. It was then that the dark haired man took his hand, sending a shiver down his body, "Nicolò, look at me, please.”   
His tone was gentle but firm and Nicolò found himself unable to disobey. Too slowly, with his heart beating like a drum, he raised guilty eyes into the other man's kind face, unsure of what was going to happen.

“Your fears are the same as mine, and so are your desires," said Yusuf leaving him speechless.

"I... I don't…”

At that point Yusuf already couldn't bear to see Nicolò like that, lost as a child, with those big, incredible eyes so afraid and full of doubt. Holding his hand a little tighter, as if to reassure him, he cupped his cheek in a tender caress, "can't you see? Even this we can face together."

Nicolò was ready to capitulate, and oddly enough, he almost looked forward to it. "I don't understand” he tried for the last time, knowing it was a futile attempt.  
Yusuf was already past panicking so at least he could afford the luxury to be completely honest. “Do you think certain thoughts never crossed my mind? Do you think I'm not afraid to ruin what we have? Yet I feel like dying every time I look at you and I can't touch you.”

Those words, the warm light in Yusuf's eyes, it was all such a beautiful nightmare and Nicolò was unable to swallow the lump in his throat.

_This is wrong, this is a sin. Stop and maybe you'll save your soul and his as well._

Before he could act, though, Yusuf covered the short distance that still separated them and brushed Nicolò's lips with his own, gently, slowly, so that the other man had all the time to stop him. Nicolò actually stiffened for the first few moments, but then something changed.

There was no way in the world that sin could taste so sweet, feel so soft, warm one man's cold heart so much and Yusuf was so brave, so much braver than him, Nicolò just didn't want to be outdone. Fear was an exhausting feeling after all, and he'd had just as much as he could take, so he finally let himself go, grabbed Yusuf's face with both hands, and kissed him with a passion he wasn't even aware to possess. There, on the threshold of his small house, in broad daylight, where anyone could see them, and it felt incredibly good.

It was Yusuf's turn to be surprised, then, he hadn't gone there for that, he hadn't gone there for anything specific except seeing the man he could no longer do without, and beg him not to disappear into thin air, instead he'd just found himself being kissed silly. Not that he was complaining, on the contrary, that kiss was igniting a desire that had stayed dormant for years, something Yusuf had never felt for anyone else, much less for another man.

How many times had he already transgressed the laws of Allah and nature, anyway? And how many times had his prayers gone unheeded? He'd been feeling like a leaf in the wind for so many years, but now he'd take the reins of his own life, finally, and do something good: to love, and care, and protect and cherish. Allah knew how much Nicolò needed it, needed him, lost and confused as he was right now, and not because he was weak. He'd once told Yusuf he'd been priest, before, a God's man. Yusuf's heart ached for him, he could only imagine how much more difficult that could be for the other man.

He held Nicolò tight, then, hoping his love would be enough, and pushed him towards the inside of the house, until the wall forced them to stop. Nicolò didn't protest and let ou a small moan when Yusuf combed his hair with his long fingers until the tie that held them in a ponytail loosened and fell to the ground.

He pretended not to understand when Yusuf called him beautiful in his own language, but he had to close his eyes and hold back a tear. It was already too much, and yet he wanted more. He sank his hands into the long black curls and found them even softer than he'd imagined, while the dark beard tickled him and sent shivers of pleasure all over his body. It was wrong, horribly wrong. A depravity in the eyes of both God and men, but there were no human eyes that could see them now, and Nicolò had been uncertain for a while that God's eyes were still on him anyway, but somehow Yusuf always had the right thing to say, at the right time. "I've got you, don't be scared," he murmured between sweet kisses and caresses that became more daring by the minute.

"I'm not," managed Nicolò, and it was true, but only to some extent.

What was about to happen, Nicolò wanted with every fiber of his being, but it'd change their whole world once again, and besides, it was something he'd never done before. Sometimes, on long, cold and lonely nights a furtive thought had crossed his mind, and his hand had wandered where it shouldn't have, but nothing more than that had ever happened. He was afraid of being overwhelmed by his own emotions, after all his heart was already beating so fast it was as if it was about to explode in his chest. When Yusuf stopped to gently hold his face in his hands, looking for the truth in his eyes, Nicolò shivered and closed them, once again unable to sustain the intensity of the other man's gaze.

"Tell me you want me," Yusuf asked softly.

“You know that”

"No, I don't, you have to tell me," Yusuf scolded softly. He wanted Nicolò as he had never wanted anything or anyone in his long life, and he was willing to trample on his own beliefs and taboos for him, but only if he had the absolute certainty that it was what Nicolò wanted too.

Nicolò knew how much Yusuf deserved to hear those words, "I want you," he finally said, this time unable to hold back a tear. Yusuf kissed it away with such sweetness that broke Nicolò's heart. How could such a beautiful and perfect thing be a sin? It made no sense. How could he have thought, if only for a moment that such a perfect man could be a tempting demon? A monster?

"Please Yusuf, I want you," he repeated then, more firmly. It was the absolute truth and it felt so good to be able to say it out loud.

That, indeed, made the fire in Yusuf's belly burn ever more fierce. With feverish hands he tore off the white linen shirt from Nicolò's shoulders, he knew he should probably go slower, but Nicolò was now surrendering to his own instinct, devouring him with kisses, on the lips, on the neck, on the shoulders, definitely erasing every remaining doubt.

It was all fast, passionate, almost violent, soon they were both completely naked and Yusuf took Nicolò against the whitewashed wall, pushing into his body inexorably, almost ferociously, taking him in one deep thrust, the penetration made easier just by a few drops of pre-cum.

Nicolò screamed, the pain of that first intrusion was intense, and he'd to bit his own lip bloody, but he was so turned on he welcomed the pain, knowing that the memory would stay forever with him, like the precious treasure it was. He knew there would be time, later, for long nights of languid caresses and tender kisses. For taking it easy and enjoying each other's body, for learning and exploring and experimenting. Together. There was still a lot they both ignored, so much to learn, but for now all he wanted was to be loved, possessed, taken, and to know he belonged to the incredible, beautiful man who was now sucking on his neck and pounding him almost mercilessly. It was the most perfect Nicolò had ever felt in his already unnaturally long life, the pain already turned into absolute pleasure, and although his thoughts were confused and clouded by lust and desire, he could still be grateful that Yusuf had been his first, as he promised himself he'd be his only as well. Clinging to the other man's shoulders, with a leg wrapped around his waist and the other, weakened by pleasure, uselessly planted on the ground, he rested the weight of his body on the rough wall, scratching Yusuf's back with his nails. He came first, untouched, and in his climax he clenched his muscle gripping Yusuf's cock in a warm, tight vise.

Yusuf came as well, then, screaming his lover's name and flooding Nicolò's body with his warm, pearly seed.

Soon after the two slid to the ground, exhausted and satisfied but also incredulous at what had just happened. Still breathless Nicolò slowly leaned forward, hiding his face in the other man's chest. Feeling him shiver Yusuf took his shirt from the floor a wrapped it around his shoulder, but the trembling didn't stop and he realized that Nicolò was crying.

Alarmed, he held him tight "my love..."

Overwhelmed by the sensation just as he'd anticipated, Nicolò raised his face, with his wonderful eyes made even brighter by the tears. "Che Dio abbia misericordia" he said "ti amo Yusuf."**

For a moment Yusuf thought that that long dream had ended, he was dying, after all. He was sure that his poor heart could never, ever contain all the love he felt for the wonderful creature he was holding in his arms.

Another man.

An infidel.

An enemy.

He smiled despite himself, then, and it was as if somebody had just taken the weight of the world off his shoulders. All those words, once so important, no longer had any meaning.

He leaned his forehead against Nicolò's "ahbk 'aydaan" he said without any second thoughts, and if he struggled to find the voice to pronounce those two small words, it was only because the emotion was too great and it took his breath away.

Nicolò went back to sinking his head in the hollow of his neck, and cried for a long time, unable to stop. Later, maybe, he could feel like a complete idiot, now he only needed to be held in the strong arms of his friend, his lover, his everything. And Yusuf did just that, he held him tight, stroking his silky hair in silence; he didn't ask Nicolò not to cry, he knew he needed those tears just as much as Yusuf needed to hold him.

The early hours of the afternoon found them sound asleep on Nicolò's bed. It was small for one person, even smaller for two, but they didn't care. It wasn't so hot anymore and besides they'd just found each other, being close was all they could possibly want. They had fallen asleep like that, clinging to each other, naked under a blanket that had seen better days.

They were able to rest only a little, though, before their breathing became labored, their sleep restless, and an all too vivid dream awoke them both with a start, leaving them confused and bewildered.

For some reason Nicolò already knew they'd had the same dream,"the women” he said and Yusuf, still too shaken to speak, could only nod.

"It's not the first time you dream of them, is it?" Nicolò asked.

"No, it's not"

"Me too"

"Is that why you want to leave?"

Nicolò shook his head, pensive “I truly think we can do some good, but I also think we should find them.”

“Why? How?”

“I don't know, but for us to have the same dream, at the same moment, it can't be just a coincidence.”

“You're right.” That said Yusuf lay down again with a small sigh, and gently pulled Nicolò to lay with him.

For a while they stood just like that, Yusuf was vaguely thinking about the future, finding those women was going to be difficult but it had to be done, pity he'd no idea at all where to start, the dreams were vague and short. For his part, instead, finally at peace with himself, Nicolò was idly playing with one of his lover's soft curls, twisting it around his finger as if hypnotized by it. For now he was content like that, with his head resting on his man's broad chest, while Yusuf ran his fingers along his spine, up and down, with extreme slowness. He could spend a whole eternity just like that and be perfectly happy, but he knew neither of them could avoid reality forever.

After a while he raised his head. "Do you think there is a place in the world for people like us?" He simply asked.

Yusuf gave the question all the consideration it deserved, but then realized that the answer seemed now much easier then ever before, “yes, I think so.”

“Why?”

"Allah made us what we are"

“Aren't you scared?” Nicolò asked again.

“Yes, I am” Yusuf admitted, then kissed Nicolò's brow. And it was true, totally. He was scared of loving so much, and frightened of what could happen when someone noticed. Two men, a Muslim and a Christian nonetheless, it was more than enough to get hate and rejection in every corner of the known world, to not belong anywhere anymore. Yet love was also what made him feel stronger than ever, to the point he didn't even feel the need to hide the immensity of what he felt for Nicolò, his Nicolò.

Somehow his honesty seemed to reassure the other man instead of fuel his own worry, mostly because he'd been much more scared to be without Yusuf than with him, and for the first time since when he'd literally raised from the death, he felt whole again. He leaned forward for a slow, deep kiss, then once again rested his head on Yusuf's shoulder. He'd already found where he belonged, after all. Allah or God, he couldn't see so much difference anymore. It still felt surprising how much their worlds had in common, and how stupid all the hate had been. Eventually other people would understand too, or so he hoped.

“So what now?” He said with a small sigh.

“We'll go wherever you want”

Nicolò smiled, still in disbelief at how lucky he was to be loved by a man like Yusuf. He only hoped to be worthy of him.

“You're already spoiling me” he said only half joking.

Yusuf smiled in turn and held him a little tighter. “it's because your smile always makes my day brighter.”

That was enough to take Nicolò's breath away and make him hide in the crook of his man's neck with a groan. “So sappy,” he said fondly, nuzzling Yusuf's jaw.

Yusuf's chest vibrated with silent laughter. Maybe it was true, he knew he was a sap, and he wasn't ashamed of it, yet right now Nicolò was the one acting like a big cat in need of attention. And who'd have though such a thing was even possible, when until a few days ago he'd been so distant that even just holding his hand had seemed a desire so unattainable that Yusuf had repressed it in the deepest part of in his soul.

Then again, many things were often deemed impossible until somebody made them happen, and here they were indeed, immortal enemies eternally in love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * The book is the Satyricon, by Petronius, one of the very first novels ever, and with gay boys in leading roles.
> 
> ** "May God have mercy, I love you Yusuf"
> 
> \--------------  
> This chapter gave me a hard time, hopefully I didn't make too much of a mess and you still liked it ^^'

**Author's Note:**

> * The Muslims referred generically to the Christians as Franks. 'Crusaders' is a modern times term.  
> ** Roger the Norman, first king of Sicily from 1130 to 1154, despite being openly on the side of the Christians mostly minded his own business, literally. He was interested in trade routes and for them he fought. Other kings attempted to involve him directly in the II crusade, but they failed.
> 
> Forgive me for being a bit of an history nerd. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, let me know what you think. The second and last one should be ready quite soon.


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